The Tune
by Shaitanah
Summary: Did you ever have that situation when some tune was stuck in your head and you just couldn’t get it out of your mind? But the song isn’t the only thing that Draco Malfoy can’t get out of his mind. Songfic. R


**Title**: "The Tune"

**Author**: Shaitanah

**Rating**: PG-13

**Timeline**: During HBP

**Summary**: _Did you ever have that situation when some tune was stuck in your head and you just couldn't get it out of your mind?_ But the song isn't the only thing that Draco Malfoy can't get out of his mind. Songfic.

**Disclaimer**: _Harry Potter_ doesn't belong to me, neither does the song _Running Up That Hill_.

**A/N**: I'm not sure who the original author of _Running Up That Hill _is. As for me, I heard at least 3 versions of that song. When I was writing _The Tune_, I listened to Placebo cover-version, so Draco is most likely stuck on Placebo. Please R&R!

**THE TUNE**

If I only could, I'd make a deal with God,

And I'd get him to swap our places,

Be running up that road,

Be running up that hill,

Be running up that building...

Draco was humming softly while the quill in his hand screeched monstrously on the parchment. The motif buzzed in his head, filled his ears, suppressing all other sounds in the library. Malfoy drifted off into a sound sphere of sensation, a precious touch of parchment over his skin... Somehow he became aware of every detail of the large world around him. The recent events made him more thoughtful, no longer a mindless brat he used to be. These changes frightened him at first, but he got used to that as he had gotten used to his father, the proud member of the Malfoy clan, being locked up in Azkaban. Just as he had gotten used to his mother's everlasting concern, or to Death Eaters' pressure, or constant loneliness, having to keep more secrets, having to ignore the Potter brat...

Malfoy raised his head as he caught the astounded look of Goyle who was sitting next to him.

"Wow! Never heard you do that. What's the song?"

"Dunno", Draco confessed reluctantly. "What, wanna keep looking? Just take a bloody picture and hang it above your bed!"

"Okay-okay, chill out, I was just... Anyway, you alright, Malfoy? See, you've changed. Guys are kind of worried, you know. I mean... That thing about you leaving school next year to join You-Know-Who – you weren't serious, were you?"

"I would prefer not to discuss that", Draco cut off. He moved forward swiftly towards the bookshelves and pretended to be completely engrossed in picking the next encyclopaedia. His finger danced upon the books' colorful backs. Unwittingly, he whistled quietly to himself.

Goyle's stocky figure stood in his light.

"Greg, for Merlin's sake!" Malfoy hissed. He rarely called somebody by name, but when he did, it was a bad sign. Struggling to overcome his exasperation, Malfoy grit his teeth and gave Goyle an angry look.

It dawned upon him then that Goyle might be of use.

"Did you ever have that situation, well, when some tune was just stuck in your head and you just couldn't get it out of your mind? It's like, well... You're constantly repeating it – over and over again, just can't stop thinking about it! And it's like it's everywhere you go. You even hear it when all the sounds are out, and it's like you're deaf. Hell, I can't explain it, it's just so much more than you! It's like... well, like–".

"Malfoy", Goyle interrupted. "You're mumbling".

He was? _He was_. He never did before. Draco balled his fists and hit the shelf. Other students knew better than telling him off. Everyone pretended to ignore two Slytherins preparing for an argument.

Malfoy breathed in carefully and said: "Forget it. Honestly, I'm fine".

Truth be told, if Goyle insisted, he would have told him to shove his concern up there where sun doesn't shine. But Goyle just left him where he was, alone, tired, but grateful. Inner music devoured him again and everything was left behind: damned school, disgusting Mudbloods peeking at him curiously, Voldemort's red inquiring eyes in the dark.

It doesn't hurt me.

Do you want to feel how it feels?

Do you want to know that it doesn't hurt me?

Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?

It's you and me

Time went by and still he drowned in music which was playing but in his imagination. The room emptied in time, and in this hour of late Draco found himself alone between the dusty book-cases. He took out a copy of some ancient treatise on dark magic which he had been reading in secret when noone was around. He transcribed difficult restricted spells in his personal copy-book. The door squeaked, someone came in, but Malfoy paid no attention.

It was a girl, as far as he could see through an empty spot between the books. His age, quite striking, so to speak. Bushy brown hair, slim waist. The girl was clad in a light peignoir above her dense winter nightshirt. No sign of which House she belonged in. Malfoy couldn't help but wonder who in his right mind would risk being expelled for wandering Hogwarts at night.

You don't want to hurt me,

But see how deep the bullet lies.

Unaware I'm tearing you asunder.

Oh, there is thunder in our hearts.

Malfoy strode towards the door, licking his lips. They felt dry and bloodless at once, and the night was hot, breathless. Draco leaned against the wall and laid his eyes upon the girl again. She bent over the table, reading something. Draco Malfoy wasn't particularly the most pleasant person to sociate with – could he just come up and start the talking? Of course, he could since he wasn't the most hesitant type either. In addition, Malfoys always got what they wanted.

"Hey", he said as he moved closer, "I was just wondering if you–".

His jaw dropped. He was facing the Granger girl from Gryffindor... no, 'the Granger Mudblood' from Potter–Weasley–Granger 'golden trio'! To his relief, she was no less astonished than he was.

Hermione gathered herself up first and muttered under her breath: "Yes?"

"I was... D'you need that?" Draco pointed at the book she was holding, something about unicorns. Hermione's gaze drifted down to the book. She handed it over and Malfoy turned his back on her and vanished as quickly as possible.

"Yeah, well, another lyrics should go with that one", he snorted and sang quietly: 'Come on, get down with the sickness'! Yeah, boy, you are _disturbed_!"

He needed to cleanse his mind with something rough and wild, so in his dorm he plugged his CD-player in and listened to whatever grunge, or punk, or alternative metal he had in his collection till the skies went bluish in the morning and he fell asleep only to be awakened by his roommates for the next day in class.

And if I only could, I'd make a deal with God,

And I'd get him to swap our places,

Be running up that road,

Be running up that hill,

Be running up that building,

Say, if I only could, oh...

He just couldn't get Granger out of his mind. The image of her in that electric sheer gown stood before his eyes as an unwashable stain. The situation was awkward. She made no sign of rememberance as he pushed past her in the Great Hall at dinner. She sat between Potter and Weasley, and Malfoy caught up on the part of their conversation.

"...and I was, like, head over heels with that", she was saying, "but thank God, now it's done. I can't believe I've spent so much time on something so simple!"

"Not that you weren't always mental in my opinion", Weasley said, stuffing food into his mouth (honestly, next to him even Crabbe was tolerable!), "but _that_ is way beyond my comprehension. We've been past that hometask for months now, Hermione, and you're still looking for that damned key answer!"

"Did it ever occur to you, Ron, that she's just interested in that?" Potter asked wearily. He looked devastated. His eyes were swollen as if he had had no sleep in time beyond any measure. Draco even felt pity for the better part of a second.

"Thanks... I guess..." Granger murmured. "Anyway, Harry, how's it going with–?"

Malfoy had to finish his dinner rapidly if he wanted to get into the Room of Requirement that evening, so he dropped the conversation at this point. Later that day he roamed the halls aimlessly and this time he wasn't very surprised as he punched into Granger by the library door. Her face mimicked his – restraint politeness summoned to mask curiousity. She was fully dressed this time. He bit his lip to banish disappointment.

They walked silently to the shelves, took what they had come for almost simultaneously, took their seats at different edges of the table and poceeded to reading. Malfoy struggled to take control over the pestering melody and the image of Granger solving some curious magical riddle at the other side of the table. It had to end. Malfoy dipped his nails into his palm and sweared mildly. He needed to figure something out, he should have done it by now, but the assignment the Dark Lord had given him was just too–.

Is there so much hate for the ones we love?

Oh tell me, we both matter, don't we?

It's you, it's you and me.

It's you and me won't be unhappy.

It didn't get any better as Draco made his way through Hogwarts's daily life with a vague hope that Granger wouldn't get in his way. The killing blow came unexpectedly from someone Draco was beginning to despise. They had double Potions together and a brilliant idea struck Slughorn. Something about the inter-House collaboration. Slytherins and Gryffindors were split in couples one representative of each House in a pair. They had to brew some difficult potion and that mindless oaf Slughorn naturally gave them no opportunity to pick a partner (not that Draco terribly wanted to work with any of those red-and-gold-clad dorks). Malfoy was assigned to Granger. They hovered around their cauldron in silence, trying not to communicate even when they had to ask for something. For a spare quantity of powdered leaves of coltsfoot Draco motioned for the pot and Hermione pushed it towards him. When the brew was almost ready, he pushed her a clean measuring-glass and shivered when his fingers brushed hers. It was an innocent and clumsy gesture, but Hermione's cheeks flushed and she hurried to look away and sent Ron a smile as he made a face having to work with Crabbe.

Hermione didn't come to the library that evening. Draco felt abandoned. He tried to concentrate on the treatise he really should have finished by now, but the lines swailed before his weary eyes. He must have looked no better than the sleepless Potter now. So much unlike a true Malfoy, always handsome and desirable to look at.

When the night was out, Draco had to sneak into Snape's new office to borrow another portion of Restoring Potion. He took it often to skip sleeping intervals. Snape, doubtless, knew that, but he had promised Narcissa to take care of Draco. That was one of the least painful ways to keep the promise.

In the cold light of morning everything seemed grey and dull. Yawning, Draco folded his arms over his stomach and looked at the low, pallid skies. Clouds, swollen with rain, ready to tear, drifted above Hogwarts's pointed towers. The school looked sad and beautiful in a way that Lucius had taught his son to appreciate.

Someone slid down on the bench beside him. Draco's heart fluttered ridiculously. It was Granger. Her hair, pinned up on the crown, curled in soft locks by her cheeks. Her eyes were tinted softly with dark-lilac shade.

C'mon, baby, c'mon darling,

Let me steal this moment from you now...

She caught Draco staring wordlessly at her. His expressionless face had never looked that appealing to her. She smiled coyly.

"What is it?"

"Why do you think I was going to talk?" Draco demanded. "Like I got nothing else to do than to speak to people like you!"

"Dunno", Hermione shrugged; she couldn't help but notice he hadn't used the regular irritating 'Mudblood' thing. "Looks like you've felt like that".

"Certainly not!"

He was up on his feet before she could utter another comment. He hurried away but then his pace slowed down. He turned back to her and said:

"Okay, you're right. I need to know one thing..." And he told her about the tune that had been tormenting him for the past weeks. Hermione frowned slightly.

"It happens to us all from time to time. You hear something on the radio, the news or just outside, maybe someone singing, and you sort of become involved. It lives in your head for a while, but not for ever. I can't understand why you're making such a big deal out of it".

"Because it's driving me nuts!" Draco exploded, shaking fiercely. "The whole thing! I hear it even in my sleep. It's not even my favourite! I bloody well am allowed to choose what to sing to myself in _my_ head! I must regain the bloody control over it!"

Granger looked away. As the sun prevailed over the clouds and spread its colorful rays in the sky, her face became softer. Malfoy came very close to her, at least close enough to feel she was shaking. It was cold, so he wrapped his arms around her body that seemed to be a tightened ball of nerves. He lowered his face to hers and their lips collided in a fierce, insatiable kiss. He could have sworn she craved it as much as he did. Their tongues danced in a wild rhythm against each other. He sucked her scent into himself. Hermione shut her eyes at first, but then she looked straight into his eyes, their kiss more of a fight now as they sucked sadness, grief, pain, disbelief out of each other, making that simple contact from darkness to light through constant loneliness. Draco's fantasies ranged farther beyond a simple kiss but there was something so pure and passionate to that simplicity. He wondered if she had anything going on with Weasley. She wondered if he had anything going on with Parkinson.

Hermione pulled away. The moment before he could react, she slapped him hard in the face and left. Astonished, perplexed, Draco remained in place as if petrified. Fury consumed him. Half the school was in love with young Malfoy (even though they'd never admit it); how come he had been rejected by that particular accursed Mudblood?

He made his way to class, silently cursing the Universe. Some Hufflepuff and Gryffindor small fry scattered at the sight of him. Malfoy was moody all day.

"I know, I know", Goyle said after having tried to start a conversation and received a furious glance. "You're not much into small talk. As always".

C'mon, angel, c'mon, c'mon, darling,

Let's exchange the experience, oh...

Draco's back ached of too much class and assuming a vertical position all the time. He relaxed in a large library arm-chair, the treatise, almost finished, put off for a while for the sake of Granger's book about unicorns, was lying next to him. 'I'm gonna crumble', Draco thought distantly as if it wasn't about him.

The door creaked. Without having to turn his head, Draco knew it was Granger. Contrary to common sense, he was glad to meet her.

"I've come up with certain means of how to solve your problem", the girl started abruptly. "Of course, if you care for _my_ opinion".

Draco stared at her incomprehensively.

"What are you–? Oh, the song! Yes, please, I do care!"

He'd settle for anything right now! Hermione's cloak floated around her freely. It was definitely larger than she needed. Its purpose soon became clear to Draco. Hermione took out a small charm-box, placed it on the table by Malfoy's side and raised her wand.

"I'm not a good hand at composing melodies", she said, "but I heard you humming at Slughorn's class. I believe I recognize the tune".

She pronounced the incantation and the box started producing quiet music, the one that ravished Draco's brain, for sure. Malfoy's eye-brows arched curiously.

"When I'm oppressed with a tune, I find it helpful to sing out an entire song. Do you remember complete lyrics?"

"Wha–? No way!" Malfoy shouted in an outburst. "No fucking way I'm doing this in front of you! No bloody way I'm doing this at all!"

Hermione shrugged indifferently. "As you wish".

She reached for the box, but Draco grabbed her hand and shook his head.

"Alright, but I'm warning you: I can't sing. It might take a tragic turn if you hear it. And not a word to anyone!.."

"My reputation will go down the toilet if people found out I was helping you", Granger remarked cynically. She had her dark side. Draco loved it.

"I don't remember", he admitted. "Only the refrain. But that's not nearly enough, is it?"

"Don't worry. I have it here". She gave him a copy-book and he stumbled upon each line of her delicate hand-writing.

He cleared his throat theatrically, pleased to see it made her smile, and his strong beautiful voice rose up to the library's high ceiling.

And if I only could, I'd make a deal with God,

And I'd get him to swap our places,

Be running up that road,

Be running up that hill,

With no problems...

With every sentence Draco felt his stress sail away, vanish in a powerful, nostalgic piece of music. As the charm-box sounded louder, air filled his lungs, he spat the words furiously into the face of his fear. Granger's hand crept closer, her fingers clutched his. Draco went on – with every pause, every sway of intonation, until the melody trailed off peacefuly, leaving him whole, fresh, newborn.

Hermione picked the box up and tucked it beneath the veil of her oversized cloak. He felt like she was supposed to say something like: 'Time of death – 0: 23 a.m.'

Draco finished the treatise several days later. He was relieved: now he knew exactly where to start. The assignment of the Dark Lord was going to take place on schedule.

He rarely showed up in the library later on. His mind had cleared. Sometimes he hummed something, but the choice was his, besides, it didn't last long. He paid as little attention to 'the golden trio' as he could these days.

Still, Granger was on his mind whenever he had nothing to do. His taunting inner voice accused him of being a coward. 'Why don't you try something with her? She's a hot stuff, you know'.

Draco looked through the unicorn book and recalled that hometask Weasley had mentioned. Something about transfiguration. Noone had gotten the highest grade. No wonder Granger-the-know-it-all was at a loss. Somehow Draco was aware of that she still kept seeking a clue.

He wrote the sheme, then the spell. He rushed through ancient legends about unicorn-maidens and contemporary magazine articles. The day he solved the riddle, he wrote an answer on a sheet of paper, stuffed it in a plain white envelope and tucked it between Granger's textbooks on Transfiguration break. The moment she noticed it, he felt he'd paid his debt.

_12 – 13. 04. 2006 _


End file.
